Page 127 of The Dueling Duchess

Cat had to take a moment to do some giggling of her own but was quick to recover.

“May I request the honor of the next set?”

True to his name, Guy let out a horrific whinny, sounding like a mare that had just come into season. “Oh, my goodness!” he shrieked, and then unfurled a fan that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. “Why, I would be so honored, Your Grace. Hmmm, now let me see—” Guy consulted a piece of parchment he’d tied to his wrist for the occasion. “No, not that one . . . Hmm, no, not then. I can’t do that one—”

Helen rapped him on the shoulder with her quizzing glass.

“Oooooh, yes, of course I shall be delighted to reserve the third set for you, Your Grace.”

Cat bowed and then all three of the actors turned to their tiny audience and bowed again.

Blade and Cecile clapped.

“There now, you see how it is done?” Guy said. “It is important to remember that you never turn down a request to dance for a set and then give that same set to another gentleman, later. That is a terrible faux pas.”

“Fox paws?” Cat repeated, looking transfixed by this unexpected turn of events.

“Mr. Darlington is making a jest by purposely mispronouncing the phrase, Cat,” Helen explained.

“I wouldn’t wager on it being purposeful,” Cecile said under her breath, causing Blade to snort.

“It is actually pronounced foe pah and it means you would be doing something not acceptable, and it would be considered rude,” Helen clarified.

“Very rude,” Guy added. “And the poor gentleman you rejected would likely go home and cry himself to sleep.”

“How would you know?” Cecile couldn’t help retorting.

“Oh, I’ve had my heart crushed under the slippers of your cruel sex on more than one occasion,” he assured her.

Cecile made a mental note to question him about that improbable claim at a more convenient time.

“As there are only two weeks remaining before the ball, we shall focus on learning the most popular and often used figures of country dances and my favorite . . . the waltz.” His brown eyes heated like caramelized sugar as he stared at Cecile, the look probably illegal in some countries.

Cecile swallowed.

He grinned and strode over to the piano, taking two slim pamphlets from the top of it. “When I learned I was to be your dancing master, I took the trouble to lay hands on two copies of this lovely little book.”

Blade and Cecile exchanged a worried look and then each took a copy.

Thomas Wilson’s An Analysis of Country Dancing.

“You must study and memorize those entire booklets. There will be an extensive, five-hour examination the night before the ball.”

Cecile’s jaw sagged.

Guy chuckled. “Lord, you should see your faces! I’m only teasing you.”

Blade gave her a look that told Cecile exactly what the other woman was thinking: Guy’s next evening on stage would be extra-humiliating.

“Once you’ve familiarized yourselves with the figures in your booklets you’ll be able to use these.”

Once again, he went to the piano; this time he picked up two fans. He unfurled one and Cecile saw it was covered with tiny writing.

“These will help you cheat when you are at the ball. You’ll notice there are names of dances with brief lists of the figures used. Of course, whoever is leading a particular dance can always dictate their own figures, but then they have to demonstrate them first, so you just have to follow.”

Cecile already felt better looking at the fan.

“Good?” he asked, his gaze on Cecile when he asked the question.